IF YOU READ THE LAST CHAPTER YOU KNOW WHAT WE'RE HEADED FOR, BUT THERE'S SO MUCH STUFF THAT HAPPENS BETWEEN A PROPOSAL AND "THE BIG EVENT." THIS FIC COVERS A LITTLE STEP ALONG THE WAY (I promise I won't string it out forever ;)
Ichabod stepped out of the hallway with a sour expression, still running the the towel over his head.
"You know," he grouched to Abbie, "popular media has wildly overplayed the pleasures of shower sex."
"Yeeeeaaaaah," Abbie agreed as she held her ice pack to the back of her shoulder. "There's another pack in the freezer if you need something for your hip, by the way."
Ichabod tossed his damp towel over the back of a chair and headed for the freezer. He wrapped a paper towel around the pack and pushed the waistband of his pj pants down far enough to press it against the tender, somewhat swollen muscle.
He faced leaned against the counter and sighed. "I suppose we were overdue for our first outright disaster."
"I think disaster is a strong - nope, can't even finish the sentence." She cautiously put down the ice pack and reached for her iPad, which was in the center of the table. The shoulder responded with only minimal complaint.
Ichabod smiled fondly at her. "I'm just glad we both avoided spraining and concussion."
"Mm," she turned on the tablet. "Do I want a standard diamond engagement ring?" She asked, swiping the screen to unlock it. "Or something non-traditional so we can pretend it's just a fancy ring you got me when we go to visit Simon's friends? As far as they know we haven't been together very long."
"You want to meet my friends - my other friends?" asked Ichabod, immediately realizing it was a stupid question. Of course she'd want to meet the important people in my life, regardless of why they're important to me.
"Hey there's a weird thought," Abbie said, derailing his internal musing. "I'm actually marrying two guys aren't I? If you're always both all the time?"
Ichabod opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He and his brain-mate spent quite a while pondering the question. "Er . . . it's . . . we're basically fused to the extent of being one man who answers to two names, and has two sets of memories. And even the memories sometimes fuse."
"What does that mean?" She set her tablet down on the table to dedicate her full attention to the conversation.
Ichabod grumbled. "I wish there'd been an introductory handbook on what to expect and how to explain this state of existence." He paused to gather his thoughts. "When I was a boy my best mate was a blonde fellow with a large scar on the back of his hand named Randy, and when I thought of him several weeks ago for I can't remember what reason, it took Simon and I the better part of ten minutes to work out whether our memory of Randy originated with him or me. Even though several of my memories involve us playing with remote control cars and other modern things, which you'd think would make it easy for us to identify the memory's true owner as my body's recent co-resident, and not the two hundred year old man."
Abbie leaned back in her chair and flung her feet up on the table. "Y'know Crane . . . when I found out I was chosen by divine forces to battle hell in the oncoming End of Days?" She shrugged. "Juuuuust assumed that would be the weirdest thing in my life."
Ichabod set his ice pack in the sink and strolled around to Abbie's side of the table. He leaned against it, his body at an angle, arms and legs crossed.
He looks smug, Abbie thought, preparing herself for him to say something ridiculous and/or quippy.
"I don't know why you're suddenly so concerned about the issue. Technically you slept with Simon the day you met him. Hadn't even known him a full hour, in fact. And I was completely out of the equation until . . . " he tucked Abbie's hair behind her ear and ran the back of his hand down her exposed neck. "My strongest anchor in this world reminded me."
"Doesn't count," Abbie insisted as she swatted his hand away. "I thought Simon was a total illusion and he'd poof," she waved her hand, "disappear once I got you to remember actual you!"
"Excuses, excuses," Ichabod grinned.
Abbie bit back a grin of her own.
Their banter was often competitive.
"Right. I should obviously have assumed my boyfriend had been turned into a freakish two brained, half old, half modern skin-suit."
"You do have to admit," said Ichabod "Simon and improve one another in many respects."
Abbie thought about it. "You did suddenly get a lot better at cooking. Simon?"
He smiled. "Correct. Now!" He swiveled and lowered himself so he was leaning over Abbie's shoulder, an arm on either side of her. "Let's have a look at our engagement ring selections."
She set the tablet on its stand and arranged it at an angle so she and Ichabod could both see the screen easily. "I'm gonna go with the non-diamond option."
"Whatever you wish," said Ichabod as he placed a lingering kiss at the crook of her neck. "As long as it's truly what you want and not an adjustment to accommodate Simon. We are both quite willing to present you to our friends as my wife, even if it would shock the hell out of them and set me up for a million obnoxious 'but you just met her' speeches."
Abbie turned her head and kissed his temple. "You're sweet. But no. Thinking about it now, going with something unusual feels right. Feels like us. Honestly," she went on as she typed the search term 'non diamond engagement rings', "if I wanted something that totally embodied the full scope of our unusualness, you'd be strapping a live animal to my finger."
"Hmmmmm," he mused, sliding his right hand close enough to hers to lace a few of their fingers together. "We could make it a black cat. Black goes with everything." He looked over the images on the screen. "Do you like any of these?"
"Not really."
"Me either. Swipe," he chirped as he brought up a new batch of images.
"Nothing." Abbie swiped. "Aaaaaaand there it is."
I bet I know which gem she's looking at.
There were a number of setting and cut options for each gem.
"Might we be looking at the pale blue topaz?" Ichabod purred as he nuzzled her.
She reached around his head and tussled his almost dry hair. "I am. Do you like the oval or the princess cut?"
"You're the one who'll be wearing it the rest of your life." He couldn't resist nudging her head to the side far enough to kiss the length of her jawline. "I abstain from opinion."
"I like . . . the oval cut." She paused and let the selection settle in her brain for a moment to make sure it felt right. "Yup. Oval cut's the one. So now settings. Torn again. This is nice and simple," she pointed to one with a slender, white gold band. "Or this." Her second option was also a white gold, but the band circled about the pale topaz from opposite sides as if trying to hug it. The gem itself seemed to hover between those elegant arms.
"I think this one would look best on you." He pointed to the 'hugging' ring.
Abbie side-eyed him. "I thought you weren't gonna have an opinion?"
He side eyed her back. "I always have an opinion." He snuck his body around her chair and crept in for a kiss. "I just choose to keep silent sometimes. But that ring," he kissed her softly, tongue brushing between her lips. "The band is more noticeable."
"Mmmmm," she breathed when he kissed her again, allowing the tip of his tongue to slide briefly over hers. "More noticeable. So it'll be easier to for guys to see I'm your property?"
"Other men are no threat to me." Ichabod chuckled. "I simply think the white gold will look phenomenal against your skin and the other one has such a slender band, it may undersell your beauty."
Abbie turned her body fully toward Ichabod and held his face gently in her hands. "You talk pretty," she whispered as she pulled him to her mouth.
He sighed, his whole body relaxing as her languid tongue roamed freely. She felt and tasted like fresh summer air.
She was just about to hop on the table and maneuver him between her legs when a thought struck her. "What about," she mumbled indistinctly, "your hip?" Now that the injuries were back on her radar, she didn't relish the thought of having a hard table against her shoulder blade. And most positions would aggravate his hip, especially at the point of thrusting.
Ichabod responded with a spiteful grumble. "We shall never attempt shower sex again." He stood up with a sigh.
"Bummer." Abbie slumped in her chair, equally annoyed. Until she looked up at Ichabod, who was gazing down at her. She always tell when he was contemplating something.
I doubt you're thinking about work or weddings, Crane. Let's hear it.
"I'm having a thought," he said.
Abbie nodded. "I can see that. Your brain may as well send up a giant road flares."
No one wears sex like you do, sweetheart.
"The thing is," he stepped close in a way that brought his growing erection inches from her face. "It would spare my hip and your shoulder any impact," he grinned. "And you are already sitting . . ."
Abbie gasped and half smirked. "Are you actually requesting a blow job? We'll have to mark this day on the calendar and celebrate it every year!"
"We can discuss festivities later," his voice was soft and low. He tilted Abbie's chin up and ran his thumb over her lips. "At the moment I have another use in mind for that beautiful mouth of yours."
Abbie shivered. She'd never been the biggest fan of going down on a guy, but now just knowing it would usually be the thing she had to talk him into made it seem more appealing.
It got even better. Not only had he asked, he actually got himself out and and stroked for a while before positioning his shaft at the best angle for her to suck him easily. Instead of taking him right away, she lifted her gaze to meet his. The sight of her made his pulse hitch.
Love never looked so obscene.
From engagement rings to this, she thought as she slowly circled her tongue around the circumference of his tip.
His hand rested atop her head, and she relished the sound of him gasping and sighing while she gave all the best of her talent. She swallowed him as deep as she could - just a sliver shy of too deep - then eased back and tried a few different paces before she found the one that got him to rock gently into her mouth.
She made sure not to grip or grab his hips, and passed over his bruised side with a light touch when she ran her hands up his body under the fabric of his 'it's too worn out to be anything but a nightshirt' shirt.
After a few minutes, she switched to kissing and lapping at the contours of his good hip while she gently massaged and stroked every inch of his length. A head-to-hilt stroke. She went back to sucking him when her jaw felt ready for more, this time firmer and faster.
"AH!" He cried out when she began ending every upward slide with a swipe of her tongue over his weeping head. "Oooooooh, oh amazing," he moaned as she sped up. "Simply - oh! I, Abbie, ABBIE!"
His long fingers curled around the back of her neck and stayed there, struggling for the discipline not to push her onto him and ruin her rhythm. Her mouth just felt so good it was difficult not to be greedy and seek more.
More depth.
More heat.
More of everything he'd have for all his life, promised in topaz and white gold.
Abbie felt him twitch and surge in her mouth, and knew he was close. She sealed her mouth around his tip, and sucked fiercely, pausing only to swallow pre cum. At the same time she held his base with a loose grip and stroked with increasing speed.
"So perfect," he panted, and aggressive shudder wracking his body, "so-so-so, sssssssooooooo . . ."
Abbie felt him contract and swell, so she angled both herself and his rigid sex in a way as to most easily swallow while he came. Seconds later his garbled words became a long uneven moan, and waves of cum spilled into Abbie's mouth. She cleaned him of every drop, then withdrew and smiled up at him, her lips swollen and shinning.
"Mmmmm," he sighed and caressed her face.
Abbie turned and kissed the palm of his hand. "Happy?" She asked.
"Beyond," he replied with the wobbly smile of a drunk man. "If this planet is the starting point of happiness, and it grows exponentially? Then I am drifting amid undiscovered stars." He stroked his fingers through her hair. "Peaceful and weightless."
"Mm," Abbie dusted his thighs and hips with light kisses before working his pants back into place. "You talk really pretty."
He pulled up a chair and lowered himself slowly, pleasantly surprised by how little the pain flared. Only a little extra twinge.
"Imagine when I write my vows," he said as he traced his fingers down her throat and along her collarbone in a continuous loop. "If anything I shall have to limit myself. There are so many things to say about the hows and whys of my feeling for you. The gift of what we have . . . and all that we will have . . . Apocalypse or no."
She nuzzled his nose and kissed him.
He could taste himself on her. He had known men who couldn't bear to kiss a woman after they'd performed the service of fellatio, and while he certainly wasn't inclined to seek out the experience for its own sake -
(All due respect to the Kim Lees of the world)
- he felt strongly that if a man found even a slight hint of his own release so disgusting, he'd no right to expect a woman to suffer the full impact. The etiquette of reciprocity further dictated he ought not expect permission to kiss her whilst her arousal lingered in his mouth.
Besides, a few conflicting appetites could be expected in a relationship, but at least one's committed lover should have the good grace to occasionally perform whatever task for the sake of the other's pleasure.
He answered her kiss with several more.
She withdrew and drummed her fingers on the table, her thoughts returning to practicalities. "Good call on the ring, Crane. Care to admit you enjoy helping me with this shit and gimmie a hand with the dress?"
He scooted his chair closer and prepared to render opinions while she typed in 'super slutty wedding dresses'.
"I'd poke you in the shoulder were it not injured." he deadpanned.
Abbie thought about it, trying to imagine herself in various styles just to narrow down the search field.
80s glitter bombs are out. Poofy fluff monsters are a no. I hate big bow and flower shit . . . strapless or one shouldered dress, I think.
She typed in 'strapless wedding dress'
"I approve of the qualifier." Ichabod said with a smart nod.
Right away Abbie spotted a style that also went on the no list. "Okay," she looked at Ichabod. You are not allowed to vote for any of these." She pointed a model whose dress clung like sausage casing to well bellow the knee, then flared out. "I think they make women look like-"
"Fish." The two said in tandem.
"We,are in agreement," Ichabod assured her. "Speaking on Simon's behalf he does have an intense attachment to marine life in general, but it's not that intense." He shook his head. "I don't care to imagine my bride with gills."
Abbie giggled softly and perused the other options.
"One detail I am very much on favor of . . ." He leaned in and trailed his fingers down her side. "Something that highlights this wonderful silhouette." He softly kissed her temple and mumbled against it, "we cannot let that feature go to waste."
You'd never know the man just got a blow job.
All of their combined stipulations narrowed the field considerably.
Several were considered and discarded for various reasons. Then Abbie tapped and enlarged one whose breastline sat low enough expose cleavage, but not so much cleavage that there should be a neon sign next to her reading: CHECK THESE OUT!
As per Ichabod's preference, a horizontal crisscross of fabric pulled in close to celebrate her shape, but it opened into naturally falling semi-sheer waves instead of becoming a fish-dress. Each wave rippled alongside the loose (but not poofy) dress whose hem fell exactly at the knee while the sheer frame extended a few inches further.
The dress was unadorned with any bells or whistles.
Hm, Abbie chewed the edge of her lower lip. Snug but no sausage, flow but no poof, and I'd probably be that bride who trips on her dress, so a little short is . . .
She side eyed Ichabod with a broad smile. "Are you picturing me in it?"
"Mm," his fingers played gently over her midsection as though her body emitted notes of music only he could hear. "I'm picturing you walking toward me."
He angled himself to kiss the curve of her neck.
"And standing next to me."
He ran his mouth up the contours of her throat as she tilted her head to the side to grant him a wider expanse. Their attempt at shower sex had been such a failure, why not make up for it with excessive action on safer ground?
"And a whole catalog of far filthier things," he whispered in her ear with a dangerous chuckle.
"Let me guess," Abbie sighed, "a whole lotta sex?"
"Sex?" He scoffed. "Any fool can manage mere sex." He swiveled in his chair and pulled her to the correct angle so he could take the full depth her mouth without relent until the need to breathe dulled his lust enough to withdraw. "I'm stockpiling ideas as we speak. Feel free to do the same." He breathed deep and reveled in the sight of her. She was already falling in love with his narrative. He slid his hands beneath her thighs and pulled her body closer. "Our first wedded shall force the very definition of sex to crumble at our feet and admit its insufficiency."
"That's ambitious," Abbie rasped as his right hand slipped beneath the hem of her shirt.
"Mmmmm." His free hand slid around her waist and pulled her into a straddle over one leg. The leg attached to the uninjured hip. "Then we must team up like never before." He whispered as his hand slid over the pliant flesh of her breasts.
He'd been internally debating whether or not his body was recovered enough to handle full-on sex, but the temptation of Abbie Mills and all that her body offered him was too much to resist.
Debate over, the thought as he guided her hand between his legs.
"We can do it Abbie," he said with a gasp as she gave his waistband the tiny tug it needed to get him free, "our partnership - ooooooh, keep doing that . . . !" Ichabod moaned as she granted his request. She began with a feathery stroke at his tip, and gradually firming the grip as her hand slid downward. "Our partnership has always proved successful, even in the face of setbacks."
Her breathing shallowed and she started to grind against his leg.
He could feel the warmth of her growing arousal, so he gripped her hips and helped her move with more force, thrusting his leg up with each forward roll to make sure her clit enjoyed the greatest possible friction.
Contact was broken just long enough for them to remove their shirts, then Ichabod wrapped his arms around her back and ducked his head to kiss and lap at her breasts. He soaked up the beautiful sensation of her chest rising and falling against his lips.
"What . . . " Abbie leaned back with a deep sigh, shivering when Ichabod's delicate tongue swept over each nipple. "Ab-about your . . ."
"Sod the hip." he declared, anticipating her query. "The pain has dulled enough." He moaned and laid lingering, sucking kisses over her perfect slope and swell. "Besides," (more kisses) "there are worse prices to pay-"
He stood up suddenly and set her on the table.
"For the privilege of being inside you."
He leaned into her and tugged one knee to his hip.
She took his cue and lifted the other, bracing herself on the table as she sunk back in response to the increasing angle of his body.
"However," he purred, placing kisses in a precise line from the base of her neck all the way to her belly. "If your shoulder is still in an angry a state, I am open to other suggestions."
"Yeah?" Her thin voice quivered.
What shoulder?
"I very much want to cum inside you," he whispered, discarding the precise line in favor of curious wandering. "But if the cost is your discomfort . . ."
He rose quickly to hover over her mouth. "The price is too high."
She perched all her weight on one elbow and used her free hand to pull him into a demanding kiss.
"I need you." She used her legs to push him firmly against her and rocked her hips. "In me." She rocked harder. "Now."
He rested his forehead on her chest with a relieved sigh as his hands fisted in the loose fabric of her pajama pants.
"Are we unclear on the meaning of 'now' Crane?" she asked, squirming impatiently beneath him.
She must not be lying about that damn shoulder.
He promptly stood up and had the pants off in a blink. Just as quickly, he hauled her into a sit, her legs splayed at his sides and ass half off the table.
Abbie clutched his shoulders and they stared at each other as he reached between their bodies to guide himself in. She felt the tip of him slide barely inside her, and her taught thigh muscles shivered, eager for more as the building heat in her belly pulsed and flared.
He braced himself on the table with one hand, and leaned in until she had him almost halfway. Rather than thrust for more depth, he rocked slowly up and down on the balls of his feet, working her wider. He loved the way her walls pushed back, challenging the rigid flesh of his hardness.
Abbie mewled and gasped at the sensation as her head lolled sideways and eyes fluttered shut.
When? she griped internally, needy as hell. He felt amazing inside her, but she craved him so much deeper. Whenwhenwhen-
Without warning he grabbed her hips and drove her onto his straining shaft.
"AH!" She cried and sucked in a sharp breath. Her head lurched into the crook of his neck while he went on thrusting, his hand gripping her thigh as tight as she gripped his shoulders, rasping and whining against his flesh.
Quick, shallow breaths accompanied his every thrust as the lively muscles surrounding him accepted his length with one wet quiver after another.
Their position made it hard for her to buck or adjust to him with any effectiveness, so he had the full responsibility of getting her off. "Hold on tight," he whispered in her ear before making a fist and pushing between their bodies until his knuckles hit what they were seeking. A warbling cry escaped her the moment he made contact, and he rubbed her clit in small circles until restraining himself was no longer an option.
The building heat in his gut roared to life and consumed him as he came, incinerating all interest in the world beyond their two bodies.
This is better than anything, he thought over and over as it slowed and ended.
Afterwards he sat down and he kept at her with fingers and tongue until she rattled to a finish as well.
Abbie relaxed for a few minutes before pushing her body upright, dangling her legs off the edge of the table.
Ichabod couldn't help but giggle.
"What?"
"Your hair is all out of sorts and you've got the most delightful look on your face."
"Yeah?"
He nodded "All glowing and sleepy."
She nudged his knee with her toes. "Wanna take a picture?"
"The phone is all the way . . . over . . . oh, somewhere. I don't care to fetch it. Besides," he scooped her up and deposited her small body in his lap. "I find this more appealing at the moment."
The two snuggled and swayed gently until Abbie was motivated enough to get dressed again.
Ichabod opted to remain shirtless.
She tussled his hair playfully as she slid back into his lap. "Wanna help me pick out a veil?"
"You want to wear a veil?" It didn't strike him as very Abbie-like.
"No, but you might look nice in one."
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Ichabod announced to the empty room, "the comedy stylings of Miss Abbie Mills!"